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Lately, I can’t move. There is no energy, no motivation—just a heavy stillness pressing against me, as if the world has lost its color and meaning. I wonder: Is this despair? What is despair, really? It feels like a whirlpool, dark and unrelenting, pulling everything into its depths—not just sadness or grief, but a dislocation of the self, a tearing away from meaning, from hope, from the ground of being. 4 replies
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